


the only hope for me is you

by eluvion



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, Love Confessions, Non-Binary Party Poison, Other, Surprisingly not that much though, Whump, gets kinda hot but doesn't get There, this is mostly an excuse to write about my ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluvion/pseuds/eluvion
Summary: "Party Poison had always dealt in hope. Almost all killjoys did. Hope that they would make it from the city, that they could find a new family, a new life. Hope that the desert would be kind, that the Witch would lead them to the right place, wherever that may be. And above all, hope that they would live another day."Or, how Party Poison nearly died, and what happened after.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days), Kobra Kid & Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 103





	the only hope for me is you

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. As many of you can probably tell, this is NOT chapter two of Bottomless Vales and Boundless Floods. So perhaps you may be asking: Has Night fallen into a completely new fandom and written a fic for it while trying to write another fic? Another fic, which was, in fact, a distraction from a fic that she may be abandoning? That fic in which she may be abandoning being yet another distraction from her actual fucking novel that she’s trying to write? The world may never know.  
>   
> So hello to the killjoyverse fandom! I may be staying here for a while, for I was unceremoniously launched into this fandom by watching like two music videos and I guess I live here now????  
>   
> My Tumblr is https://nightwing-hunter.tumblr.com/ if you want to talk or something. (Someone please talk to me I’m dying because no one I know is in this fandom) Anywayyyyy, enjoy I guess :)))))))

Party Poison had always dealt in hope. Almost all killjoys did. Hope that they would make it from the city, that they could find a new family, a new life. Hope that the desert would be kind, that the Witch would lead them to the right place, wherever that may be. And above all, hope that they would live another day.

They didn’t know if they held that hope anymore. They were burned, badly, on the side. It didn’t feel like it had hit anything important, but, honestly, Party couldn’t tell. They had never been a medical expert. Though they could still walk, they didn’t know for how long.

They barely knew where they were. They had woken up on the side of the road after a firefight, alone with nothing but their mask and gun, along with an intense, burning pain at their side and the urge to sink into the darkness that had clouded their vision. But they were able to rip their clothing into a momentary dressing for the wound. 

They had stood and taken in their surroundings. They weren’t sure, exactly, where they were, but Party  _ was _ pretty sure they were in Zone Two. Somewhere in the endless desert.

They didn’t even have a radio. They had stumbled to their feet and had begun to walk along the road, hoping to Destroya that it ended somewhere with civilization. Thankfully, it was night, and even though it was fucking cold, it was better than fucking hot. They were still painfully aware of their lack of water.

No water, no food, just Party stumbling along the lonely road, bleeding out of their guts. They could only pray that they would survive. 

\--

It was hard to tell when they got to the Mailbox, but when they did, they collapsed against it, not caring about touching the cold metal. It burned, and they felt like their skin was going to freeze off. They wondered, dimly, if it would.

Exhaustion weighed at their bones, dragging them to the ground, like weights in water. Curling up against the Mailbox, their side flared in a sudden wave of pain. They groaned. The wound had only gotten worse as they walked, and the burn was bleeding freely again, the crimson liquid spilling from the hastily-made bandage and coating their shaking fingers.

They sunk deeper into the soft sands, closing their eyes. They wondered, distantly, if they should let go. Let the Witch do what she would, let the wind take them away. Party could almost  _ feel _ the Witch at the edge of their senses, like she was waiting. Waiting and watching to see how long it took for them to fade away.

But something in them rebelled. _ No. Fuck that.  _

They forced themselves to stand, ignoring the spots of black forming in front of their eyes. They were not going to die. Not like this—bleeding out on the sands next to the Mailbox, just waiting for the Witch to take them. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. They were  _ not _ going to die alone.

Party leaned against the wall of the warehouse, stumbling to the open space, sharp pain shooting through their side with every step. They needed to find someone. Preferably someone with a radio. 

A voice rang out behind them. “Party?” 

Damn. They were too out of it to even hear the footsteps.

They turned to the voice, coming face-to-face with Fun Ghoul. Hope lit up his face, but the happy expression dropped as soon as he saw Party leaning against the building, clutching their side.

“Ghoulie?” Party said, their voice scratched and hoarse.

Relief tugged at their chest. Ghoul was here. They would be fine. Or at least they wouldn’t die alone. They began to walk to Ghoul. Suddenly, Party stumbled a step and collapsed into Ghoul’s arms. They fell into a pile next to the warehouse. Their wound was burning then, bleeding into their hand, and they reached out, holding Ghoul’s own hand tight. 

“Party!”

He was panicking, then, tearing off Party’s layers. Ghoul gasped as he saw the wound. Party could hear Ghoul mumbling as he pried their hand from the bleeding mess and undid the dirty bandages. 

“ _ Fuck.  _ No, no, Party, you are not dying on me, not like this. Are you listening, Cherry Bomb, you are  _ not  _ dying. Not now, not here.”

They were going to black out any minute. Ghoul was taking care of the wound, but they had already lost so much blood. As Party began to slip into the darkness, Ghoul’s hand tightened around theirs, and Party came back for a moment.

“ _ No, _ ” Ghoul growled in their ear. “Don’t you dare die on me. Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.”

Party couldn’t tell what Ghoul was doing. They could hear Ghoul muttering, distantly, and they could feel Ghoul’s hands patching the burn. They didn’t know how long they had left. 

_ Fuck, they could die out here.  _ When had they last seen Kobra? Jet? The Girl? They didn’t even know. And Ghoul… Ghoul didn’t know.

Party caught one of Ghoul’s trembling wrists in their bloody hands. Stared into his eyes, watched tears stream from them.

“I love you,” they said, gasping as another sharp pain lanced through them. “I love you.”

Ghoul was panicking. Party could see that, but they needed him to know. They needed him to know before… well, before they couldn’t tell him anymore.

Was this goodbye? They didn’t know, but perhaps it was better that they said this here, now. They didn’t want to say goodbye. Not yet.

When Ghoul spoke, his voice was low and quiet, almost shaking. “Party, if you love me, hold on, ‘kay? The Witch doesn’t get to have you yet.”

“Ghoulie—“

“No.  _ No. _ ”

They lapsed into silence as Ghoul finished wrapping Party’s middle with bandages.

Party looked into his eyes, still gasping in pain. Ghoul wrapped his arms around Party and held them close. Tucked Party’s head into his neck, and pushed them against his body. It hurt, still, but this,  _ this _ was worth all the hurt in the world. Party leaned into the touch and closed their eyes, feeling Ghoul’s erratic pulse thrum next to their ear.

Ghoul’s voice was low. “You don’t get to leave me, ‘kay Cherry Bomb? You don’t get to die.”

“I’m not dead, Ghoulie,” Party whispered into his skin, panting. “Not yet.”

——

Fun Ghoul was still panicking when Party fell asleep, still pressed against him. He had been panicking ever since the firefight that got them all separated. He had found Jet and Kobra days ago, hiding in the ruins of an old building. They had all thought that Party was dead. He had been checking the Mailbox to see for sure. 

And they weren’t. They weren’t dead.

But to be perfectly honest, Party looked like they had gone through hell and come back. Ghoul supposed they had. They were pale and sweaty and shaky, their bright red hair plastered on their forehead by sweat. The wound was still bad, and they were still dying. But they weren’t dead yet.

And Destroya be damned, they were going to stay that way if Ghoul had any say in it. 

Ghoul stood and carried Party to the car, hidden under a cliff. They weren’t heavy, but Ghoul had to be careful not to shift the bandages. There were still a few supplies left in the car, but Ghoul had used most of them on Party.

_ Fuck,  _ Party. They were hurt—bad. Death was riding right on their heels, and Ghoul knew that they could only run so far. Almost everyone in the desert died young, but somehow it had never clicked that Party would. 

He needed to get to Jet. Jet was the one with the steadiest hands, the one who could stitch a wound one-handed, the one that could save Party. He could hear them panting in the back seat. Even unconscious, they were breathing hard through the pain. 

Ghoul drove through the desert in silence. The sun was just starting to rise, the desert coming alive as it did. The sand burned golden under the tires of the Trans AM, and the light caught the grains that flew behind them, blazing the sand into the bright blue sky. 

The desert was still beautiful. It always was, in its own way. Battery City was stark and white, perfect pieces fitting together in a perfect puzzle. No dust, no dirt. Every bit of history and music and color wiped clean off a perfect, blank city. 

But the desert was made of mistakes. Radiation spilling from every crack, the elements beating and fading and killing anything exposed, the messy way everything fit together. But that was the point, wasn’t it? That the color and the loud music and emotions were raw and clear. That the world  _ wasn’t  _ clean and perfect and everything was fucked yet they were still here. They still cared. They still lost people. They still loved people.

Party had always had the soul of the desert. They lived with so much fire and burned the world around them so  _ intensely.  _ They had looked into the heart of BL/ind and tore it to the ground. The world bent around them; the desert heard their commands and bowed to them. Party was made from desert sands and ray gun fire, from defiant smirks and raw emotion. Party  _ was _ the desert. 

Was that why he was scared of loving them? 

Ghoul wasn’t scared of rejection. He always knew somewhere, deep down, that Party loved him. That Party loved him with the same fire that they loved everything. That they knew his feelings and shared them. And now he knew for sure. He wasn’t scared of that.

But Ghoul was terrified that he would lose Party as soon as the world knew what they meant to him. That’s what the world had always done. That was what BL/ind had always done.

They tore away anything that you cared about. But maybe that was the point. That they had to care. Because if they stopped loving because BL/ind took so much away, then BL/ind had won. The colors didn’t mean anything if the passion was gone.

It  _ hurt  _ to keep on feeling. But he had to.

He decided, then. He would get Party back, and he would crawl through hell and barter with the Witch Herself if he had to. He was going to get Party back, and he was going to tell them he loved them, and just to top it all off, he was going to find the BL/ind agent who got to Party and burn them to ashes. 

BL/ind didn’t get to win. Not this time.

——

When Party woke up, they were in the diner, stretched out on a table. The first thing they felt was pain. It didn’t surprise them, but the wound still fucking hurt. But they  _ were _ surprised that they were alive.

They sat up and looked down at the wound. It was stitched and properly bandaged now (Ghoul had always been shit at healing), and their jacket had been draped over them as to avoid freezing to death. 

The diner was as it always was—dingy and dirty, with paint and crumbs and other random stuff piled everywhere. It felt like home.

Ghoul sat slumped over the table, asleep next to them. He was holding their hand. Something ignited in their chest, as he watched Ghoul, fast asleep, clinging to them like they were his lifeline.

Party laid back down and closed their eyes. They wanted to stay like this, holding Ghoulie’s hand. They wanted to linger in this moment of silence, when it was calm.

Party twisted their head and looked out the window of the diner. It was a clear night; the radiation hung over some other zone in some other part of the world, leaving the stars behind, bright and burning. They knew that the stars were not stars, not anymore, just satellites launched up there imitating stars, but they were beautiful. They still lit up the night, gave direction in the desert.

A beam of moonlight traced its way onto Ghoul’s face. He looked exhausted, with dirt and sand and blood covering his face and clothes. It was their blood. Party’s blood, soaked into Ghoul’s clothes, spread across his skin. They closed their eyes again, but the blood was burned into their memory.

Fuck. They nearly died. They nearly  _ died _ .

It had never set in, not really. Even lying there next to the mailbox, waiting for the Witch to come, something in them still rebelled. Something in them knew that it wasn’t their time, not yet, not like that. 

They wondered, dimly, when they would die, what they would die for. Well, they knew exactly what they would die for. They knew exactly who they would burn themselves to ash and dust for, who they would rip out their lungs and bleed themselves dry for. But they would never know when.

“Party? You awake?” Ghoul said, still holding their hand.

Party’s eyes snapped open. “Hey, Ghoulie.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Then they remembered their words. Next to the Mailbox, almost dead in Ghoul’s arms. Fuck. They told him that they  _ loved  _ him. And maybe he did love them back, maybe he felt the same way, but,  _ fuck,  _ that was not how they wanted to tell him. Then again, they had thought it was their last chance.

Party moved down to sit on the seat next to Ghoul. Leaned back against the wall behind them. 

Ghoul stared at them. They stared back.

Something uncurled in Party’s chest, and they reached out with a sure hand. They cupped Ghoul’s face, pushing his black hair from his eyes. Ghoul leaned into their touch. Closed his eyes.

“Party…” he began.

They put a finger to Ghoul’s lips, and he fell silent. Their finger ghosted over the x-shaped scar on his lips.

He reached forward and wrapped his arms around Party’s middle carefully. Party looked into his eyes, and some part of them wondered how long they would have. The desert was not kind.  _ Life _ was not kind. They nearly died, and could die tomorrow or the day after or the day after that. They just didn’t know.

No killjoy knew when they would be dusted. Party would never know when they would walk into the wrong fire, when Korse would finally catch up to them, when they finally burned away to nothing but ash. They never knew when the Witch would come. 

Party knew that Ghoul knew that. They knew that he had probably been going over that same train of thought the whole way back to the diner. So they pulled him closer until he was sitting in their lap.

They curved a hand behind Ghoul’s neck, wrapping their other arm around Ghoul’s back. They pulled him forward slowly, careful not to shift their bandages. Their faces were inches apart now, and Party could smell Ghoul’s breath. 

“Ghoulie, I—”

This time, it was Ghoul who cut Party off. He pushed a strand of hair from Party’s eyes, his fingers brushing Party’s skin. They exhaled sharply, and their face felt hot.

It wasn’t that Party hadn’t kissed anyone before. They had had their fair share of lovers. But this was  _ Ghoul _ . 

Ghoul, who had found them bleeding in the desert and saved them. Ghoul, who saved their life as easily as Party risked it. Ghoul, who they had fallen for—hard, so fucking hard that they didn’t know if they would survive. 

Ghoul—their best friend, their crew, their detonator—kissed them.

It was soft, careful. Barely a brush of lips.

Party gasped in a breath of air.

Ghoul’s voice was soft. “Party?”

They practically launched themselves at him, and they kissed him hard. Their hands went to his hair, and they wove their hands through the thick, black strands. A white-hot feeling burned inside of them, and they felt, for just a moment, that this,  _ this, _ could set the whole damn diner on fire. 

They spun Ghoul around, pushed him into the diner seat cushions, and kissed him harder. Ghoul’s hand curved around their neck, pulling them down into the cushion. They were both panting, and a light sheen of sweat covered Ghoul’s face. 

And that fire, deep inside them, burned away, lighting their skin afame and charging their movements. They felt it every time they touched Ghoul, but they were always small, simply sparks, never this roaring, passionate thing.

The wound was still there, but Party was too caught up in the feeling of kissing Ghoul to care about it. Because, fuck, kissing  _ Ghoul _ . It was like a firefight, adrenaline pumping through them and exhilaration burning them alive. 

“I love you,” Party whispered against Ghoul’s lips, pushing the words into his mouth.

Ghoul pulled them into another kiss, his tongue slipping into Party’s mouth, and  _ fuck _ . Party pulled at his hair, exposing Ghoul’s neck. They kissed their way to his pulse point and sucked at it, teeth brushing his skin.

_ “Fuck,” _ Ghoul said, jerking beneath them. “I love you, Cherry Bomb.”

The diner door slammed open loudly, interrupting them.

Party jumped, and they both sat up. Ghoul’s hair was a mess, the oily dark strands sticking everywhere. His eyes were still a bit glassy, and his pupils were blown. Party supposed that  _ they _ didn’t look much better.

Then, a second later, Party heard someone say, “Well, then. Guess you’re fine then.” 

Party whipped their head around to see Kobra leaning on the doorway of the diner. The door was still open behind him, the wind blowing sand into the room. He didn’t look surprised, though. But that was probably a given. Yeah, they kept secrets from each other, but Kobra could always tell when Party was in love.

They smirked. “You don’t need to watch.”

Kobra’s face went red. “ _ You _ don’t have to do it in the middle of the fucking diner. Some of us live here.”

“You’re one to talk,” Party muttered to themself. They had their fair share of times when they walked into the diner to see Kobra and Sandman going at it.

“Where’s Jet?” Ghoul asked. Party could hear the smile in his voice.

“He’s out with the Girl,” Kobra said. “You know if he sees you two makin’ out in front of her, he’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, we know the house rules,” Party said, rolling their eyes.

Kobra made a sound of disgust. “You’re  _ already  _ talking like a couple. Fuckin’ pastels.”

He stomped to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Party turned around to look at Ghoul again. He was still panting, his eyes a little wild. He was grinning, staring at Party like they were the fucking stars. Party grinned back and pushed him against the wall.

Kobra’s door banged open again. He stomped out, and he looked past Party to stare into Ghoul’s eyes. “Once you’re finished, Ghoul, we’re gonna have to talk.”

Then Kobra smiled his viper’s smile, pivoted, and strode back into his room.

Party burst out laughing as soon as they heard the door slam. Ghoul had a look of horror on his face, and he was staring in the direction of Kobra’s room.

“Fuck,” Ghoul said. “I forgot how scary your brother can be when he wants to.”

Party caught their breath and tried not to laugh. They said, “Nah, it’s okay. He’ll go easy on you. Maybe.”

“That is  _ not _ relieving in the slightest.”

Party just laughed again and pulled Ghoul closer.

Maybe they didn’t have eternity. Maybe they didn’t have a lifetime. 

But they had now. 

They had this.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know if I’ll write more killjoyverse stuff, but I promise that the next thing I post will be BVABF chapter two  
>   
> Also someone please talk to me  
>   
> https://eluvion.tumblr.com/


End file.
